


the net under the ledge

by liginamite



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Grieving, Implied Child Death, Kissing, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Series, Trauma, hell yeah we got some kissing in here, meme fill
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-03 14:20:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1747703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liginamite/pseuds/liginamite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life and love is a bitter, winding road of tragedy and misfortune. But as they always say, misery loves company.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "i'm not cut out for this"

**Author's Note:**

> ~~so a couple of days ago i posted[this meme](http://bofur.co.vu/post/87569384641/send-me-a-pairing-and-a-line-of-dialogue-and-ill-write) to tumblr and darling user vengersemble decided to go into my inbox and calmly suggest that i do _each and every single one_ for preller~~
> 
> ~~let it be known that i never back down from a challenge. _you're on, dutchbag_~~
> 
> ~~(however! this particular chapter was prompted by my lovely friend mel, who got to my inbox first.)~~
> 
> i backed down from the challenge lmao.

It takes Jimmy almost fifteen minutes to find the new medical examiner. 

He’s wedged himself into one of the janitor’s closets, close by the locker rooms, arms around his knees and eyes red, but he looks up at Jimmy with very little shame. Mostly there’s a despair there that Jimmy instantly recognizes and sympathizes with. There’s a bit of defiance, too, like he’s daring Jimmy to make a scene of things, and maybe in other circumstances he might.

Instead he leans against the door frame, raises an eyebrow. “So I’m sure there’s a good reason you’re in here, right?” He takes a cursory look around. “Unless, of course, you’re categorizing the different brands of bleach Joe has in here.”

New Guy swallows, sniffs a little bit but there’s still that vaguely angry, disheartened look to his expression that makes Jimmy’s heart ache just a little bit. 

"Agent, uh, Special Agent Crawford has me assigned to the Keebler case," he mutters, and rubs his nose against the faded knee of his jeans. Jimmy has to sift through a mental manila folder of the cases they’ve got lined up and finally settles on a multiple murder, family of five, husband, wife, and—

"Oh," Jimmy breathes in realization. "That one."

"I’m not cut out for this," New Guy mutters, and his voice catches a little. "I mean, I’ve. I’ve _done_ autopsies like that, you know, that kind of… of that  _variety,_ that… age… but not… like that, not when the bodies are… are—”

"On display?" Jimmy offers up carefully, and gets a nod in return. True that he’s far more used to the nature of the crimes they deal with in the BSU, and true that perhaps Jimmy’s become a little desensitized to some of it. But he still has enough left in him to remember what it was like on his first truly awful case, remembering the horror and nausea that struck in waves while they worked the scene.

So with a grunt he sits down on the floor opposite in that tiny little closet, finally understanding what sardines must feel like. At least two different joints pop, but he still settles with his head against one of the shelves, looking down his nose at the now-curious fellow occupant. Might as well start off the conversation that needs to occur, since he’s got a couple of questions.

"What’s your name again?"

"Brian." 

"Good to know. I’m Jimmy. Well, Brian," he rolls his neck a little, looks around contemplatively. "What, exactly, was it about the janitor’s closet that felt like a private retreat away from work?"

Shockingly enough, Brian laughs a little. He’s got one of those laughs that are just short of a giggle, the kind that crinkle his eyes in the corners until they’re almost closed. “Old college habits die hard. Getting a medical degree is pretty stressful, you know.” He looks around, almost nostalgic. “I used to duck in the closets near the bathrooms when I got too stressed out, especially during finals week, because no one ever thought to look for me there.” 

"I take it that you were successful."

Again, Brian laughs a little, and winds a spare thread off his sweater around his pinkie finger. There’s a half-smile playing on his lips, the kind that Jimmy can only recognize as a need to go back to easier times. “Uh, well, for a while, but a professor got wise to it and I wasn’t allowed to go to the quote unquote ‘bathroom’ until I had handed in all my work.” He sobers up a little bit, and with a sharp  _snap_ breaks the thread off his sleeve. “It was sort of a, a coping mechanism I guess. When I got a little overwhelmed. Like now.” 

"The bodies overwhelmed you," Jimmy says, not really asking, and Brian shakes his head.

"It wasn’t the bodies, it was… it was the  _way_  the killer treated them. Like they were nothing.” He looks a little desperate. “It felt like if I treated them like slabs of meat to cut open and dissect that I was no better. It’s never felt like that before.”

"I take it you’ve never really dealt with the victims psychopathic serial murders before."

"Old age and cancer," Brian mutters. "The occasional mugging gone wrong. Fires and car crashes. Not… not strung up and on display for the whole world to see like they weren’t  _people_  at all.” His tone is growing frustrated. “I was so excited to join the unit, especially when Special Agent Crawford asked for  _me_ specifically, but then.” Brian gestures like he could pluck the right word out of thin air. “Then  _this.”_

He huffs a little, clearly upset with himself, and touches his forehead down to his knees. Jimmy contemplates for a long moment, tapping his fingers against his own thighs, before speaking carefully and weighing each word. It’s not a usual technique of his, but he’s got the feeling that this situation might require some delicacy. 

"I don’t think Jack would’ve hired you unless he knew you’d be able to handle it," he starts, and Brian lets out another, sharper laugh that bites at the edges. "No, no, none of that. I mean it. In fact I’d be a bit concerned if you  _weren’t_ a little torn up over this. It means you’ve still got emotions, which God only knows we could use around here. There’s more feeling in the corpses at this point. Jack—”

"But I’m supposed to be a  _professional_ —”

"Was I done?" Jimmy says sharply, loudly, and Brian clamps his mouth shut, looking properly chastised. "Ahem. As I was saying, Jack doesn’t just hire on any old person to his team. Whatever it was about you that caught his eye, it was something. Which means that he has faith in you that you can do it."

Brian still looks a little disbelieving, so Jimmy sighs, looks around, and lowers his voice enough that Brian has to lean forward a little to hear him. He’s divulging information that, if Bev ever gets wind of, will permanently ruin whatever reputation he’s got going for him.

"On my first ever crime scene, as soon as I saw the actual bodies, I threw up."

Brian’s eyes widen.

"No, you didn’t."

"Mmm. I did. My supervisor wanted to throttle me." He sighs wearily. "Should’ve let her, too, in all honestly. The paperwork was lethal, I’m shocked I’m not still doing it. Oh, no, stop, stop laughing you little bastard, I told you this in  _solidarity._ ”

"I-I’m sorry," Brian wheezes into his hands. "No, I’m sorry, I’m being insensitive. Sorry." But he keeps laughing, a full-belly laugh that bleeds just a little bit into trauma-induced hysteria, the kind that’s mostly emotions that were kept bottled up boiling over the edge, but it’s better than crying so Jimmy lets him at the expense of his seniority over new employees.

"And I told you that in confidence, too," he warns once Brian’s managed to pull himself together. "No blabbing."

"Of course not." Brian wipes a stray tear out of the corner of his eye with his sleeve. "No, I won’t tell anyone. I promise."

"Good, I’ll hold you to it. Now. I think it’s time we get back to our actual jobs before they send out another search party."

Jimmy grasps the poles that make up some of the upper shelves and hoists himself to his feet, grunting when his knees crack back into place. He has to stretch, having been bent nearly double in the cramped little space. Brian follows, his cheeks still a little red but looking much better than when Jimmy’d first opened the door on him. 

"Feeling better?"

"A bit." Brian bites his lip. "I just don’t know how I’m going to be able to go back there—"

"It won’t be easy," Jimmy interrupts. "I’ll never lie to you and say that things get easier, or that the bodies stop pouring in, or that we’ll catch every single one. But do you know what’ll get you through it?" Brian looks down at him, unsure, and Jimmy prods him once in the chest. "The fact that you’re  _doing something._ Take it from me, it’ll keep you up at night otherwise.”

He tugs the door open and waits for Brian to shuffle out, but Brian just looks at him for a long moment with an unreadable expression. Finally it settles into a smile, hesitant and small.

"Thank you."

"You’re welcome." Jimmy flaps his hand. "Now, c’mon, move it. We’ve got a killer to catch." Brian hustles out after that, wiping his face down one more time with his sleeves while Jimmy shuts the door behind them and falls into step as they head back towards the morgue.

They’re almost there when Brian breaks the silence again.

"Just. There’s this one thing." He looks a little confused. "Why did you know to look in a closet?" Brian asks as they’re heading back, and Jimmy stifles a grin, choosing a very serious expression instead.

"Oh, I have a bit of a history with helping people who’re hiding in closets," he deadpans, rising his eyebrows accordingly, and counts the seconds down.

And then Brian’s cheeks flush pink, his eyes widen, and Jimmy laughs and walks away as he starts stuttering, “w-wait, hold on, I’m—wait, Jim, are you— _hey!_ " 


	2. "i just really need to have you here right now"

  
It’s a soft, insistent buzzing against his bedside table that rouses Brian out of sleep. For a moment, he just lays in bed, blinking sleep out of his eyes and staring at the ceiling and cursing whoever’s calling him at butt o’clock because then he _remembers_. And he'd really rather not, for at least however many hours of sleep he can get in a night. Because remembering makes things _hard_ , it makes life hard to deal with and he wants to shut life out for just a minute.  
    
The buzzing stops before he can properly address it and he sighs, presses his face into his pillow and huffs into the fabric. His sister bought him some new detergent last month that’s supposed to smell like the ocean, apparently, but when he takes a long whiff it just smells like his shampoo and his hair and probably his sweat, too. It's been a couple of days since he did the laundry anyway.  
    
His phone buzzes again, just once to remind him he has a missed call. He sniffs again, face first into his pillow and feeling miserable before finally moving. He forgets about Natasha, though, and she doesn't quite like it when he rolls over to grab his phone. She digs her claws into his thigh, having clearly been quite comfortable resting there, and he yelps.  
    
"Hey," he chastises, patting the top of her head hard. "None of that, grumpy girl. I don't want to be awake either."  
    
She blinks lazily up at him before laying back down, her tail thumping once against the duvet. The two of them have a staredown, and finally she closes her eyes and turns away. Brian scratches her a little behind her ears as he reaches for his phone, yawning widely. When he sees the screen he pauses for a moment, unsure, and finally swipes the screen to call back.  
    
It rings three times before Jimmy picks up, and even though he sounds casual Brian can hear the sheepish undertone. It's almost shaken up.  
    
“Hello.”  
    
“Hey.”  
    
There’s a short pause, one in which Tasha starts nibbling and licking lovingly at his fingers, before Brian breaks it with a simple, “you called?”  
    
Jimmy lets out a long sigh and Brian can imagine him rubbing at his eyes the way he does when he’s irritated or tired. He shifts his phone to his other hand, rubbing Tasha’s belly as she rolls over, stretching long and languid with a gentle meow. He thinks for a second before speaking carefully.  
    
“Well, I mean, I can always hang up and pretend it was a buttdial at…” He glances over at the clock on his bedside table. “2:52am. We could just go back to sleep, if you want.”  
    
“No, no…” Jimmy sighs again, and it sounds heavier. “I mean, yes, that’s preferable but it’s… complicated.” There’s another short pause, one that they both feel in the air even over their phones, but Brian remembers only a couple of days ago when the roles had been reversed and _he_ had been the one awkwardly on the other line wrapped up in a duvet, gross and snotty and unfortunately trying not to cry more. So he waits patiently, and sure enough Jimmy continues.  
    
“I’m sorry I called you so late, or. Early, as the case may be.”  
    
“It’s all right.” Brian kicks the duvet away and rolls off his bed, yawning and padding towards the kitchen. “I don’t have work tomorrow so I can stay up, if you want to talk.” A quick hand through his hair has every curl standing on end, and he pulls the half-empty carton of orange juice out of the fridge.  
    
Jimmy chuckles dryly. “It’s quite the offer at nearly 3am.”  
    
“I’m a gentleman,” Brian says around the swig of juice he took out of the carton, directly opposing his words. “Plus it’s not like you haven’t been there for me these last few days, you know? It’s only right of me that I return the favor.” He pauses, then, and reverses. “I mean, I would anyway, this isn’t some weird eye-for-an-eye thing, you know that right?”  
    
This time the laughter is more genuine. “Of course I know that, Bri.”  
    
Brian sighs, rubs more sleep out of his eyes. “Right. Sorry. Okay.”  
    
They have another long pause, while Brian screws the cap back on his orange juice. It’s when he’s sifting through his fridge for something to nibble on that Jimmy says sharply, like he’s afraid if he doesn’t get it out now he never will, “can you come over?”  
    
Silence appears to be the prevailing theme tonight between the two of them, but this one is much less about a lack of anything to say or some sort of awkwardness and instead mostly because Brian is so stunned by the request.  
    
“I. Really?”  
    
Jimmy clearly hesitates with his answer, and for a moment Brian’s terrified that his deplorable lack of proper social skills in the face of an actual chance at intimacy--something they haven’t shared since, well, since _it_ happened--are going to utterly destroy this moment, but then Jimmy says something in a small voice that completely shocks him.  
    
"I just... really need to have you here right now."

Brian stumbles over himself words and feet alike as he darts back to his room, thanking whoever is listening for the second chance.  
    
“Yeah, yeah, um, yes! I’ll just-- let me get just, uh, put some pants on--”  
    
“ _Brian_.”  
    
“I’m in _boxers_ , Jim.” He fumbles through his pajama drawer and tugs on some flannels, throwing jeans and a t-shirt into the dumb FBI drawstring they all got at the Christmas party two years ago, toothbrush, brush, hair gunk. All the while Jimmy’s listening on and finally comments, “are you tearing your room apart? Lord. It’s only for the night, Brian.”  
    
“I’m less inclined to be seen in my pajamas at noon than at 3am, thanks,” Brian replies and thinks about grabbing his pillow before thinking better of it. Instead he gives Natasha another quick rub on her belly and pulls his bag closed. “I’ll be there in ten minutes, alright?”  
    
“Okay.” Again, it’s Jimmy’s tone of voice that gives Brian pause, bag hanging by its strings from his fist.  
    
“Are you… are you okay, Jim?”   
  
“What? Yeah. Yes, I’m fine.”  
    
Brian wants to ask if he’s sure, but he knows better at this point, so he just repeats, “I’ll be there soon,” and at Jimmy’s affirmation hangs up.  
    
The drive only takes about ten minutes in silence, his fingertips tapping against the wheel, but he’s glad to find his impatience is shared when Jimmy opens the door mere seconds after he’s rung the bell. He feels a little silly, standing on the doorstep in flannel pants and a hole-ridden t-shirt, but it all melts away when Jimmy pulls him in and kisses him instantly.  
    
It’s a soft kiss, one that sends Brian’s bag thumping to the floor so his hands can cup Jimmy’s face instead, and he can taste a smile on his lips.  
    
“You missed me,” Brian murmurs against his mouth, grinning back. Jimmy just huffs, pulling him towards the couch. “It’s only been ten hours or so since we got off work.”  
    
“Of course I did, you tit. Life has been hell. But this is my customary welcome to all visitors,” Jimmy adds with a tilt of his chin and a quirk to his lips. Brian smacks his arm.  
    
Still, he lets himself be pushed down on to the couch so that Jimmy can practically crawl onto his lap and continue kissing him. It’s a refreshing switch from the usual, since Brian’s the one that tends to do the crawling and kissing and asking Jimmy to come over. But there’s something tense shivering up Jimmy’s back, something that makes his touches a little more frantic and desperate than Brian is used to. It feels unusual, but oddly intimate, as though he alone gets to see this version of Jimmy Price.  
    
The main problem, of course, is that Brian knows exactly what it is.  
    
They just kiss for a while, blocking out the world behind them for just a bit more than either of them know is healthy, until Jimmy finally mutters, “we should really go to bed.”  
    
Brian makes a disgruntled whining sound, trying to chase Jimmy’s mouth when he pulls away, but Jimmy just presses a finger to his lips and quirks one eyebrow in that patented way of his. Wrinkling his nose, he nods and lets Jimmy pull him back up, interlocking their fingers together for just a moment before they both head towards the bedroom.  
    
“You must be tired,” Jimmy mentions offhandedly, but there’s a guilty edge to his tone that almost makes Brian laugh.  
    
"Well, I got into a fight with my cat right before I called you. That was pretty exhausting."  
    
"Sounds dangerous. Has she lived up to her namesake?"  
    
“Oh, of course. Never cross the Black Widow, Jim, you know that.”  
    
Jimmy shakes his head and buries his face in his hands chuckling. “You, Brian Zeller, are a _nerd_.” His tone is full of nothing but fondness, and he’s still grinning when Brian swoops down to press a quick kiss to his lips as soon as he looks up again.  
    
“Oh, but you love me.”  
    
Jimmy hums his response as he tugs the sheets on the unrustled side, letting out an appreciative whistle when Brian strips off his flannels back down to his boxers. Brian rolls his eyes in return, and flicks off the light before sliding into bed.  
    
They both settle into the dynamic they agreed upon the last few times they slept together (in the innocent sense of the word, and perhaps the naughty sense too): Brian wraps his arms around Jimmy’s waist and snuggles up close, slipping one leg between both of Jimmy’s. Jimmy just presses a soft kiss to his palm and holds it tightly, tighter than usual.  
    
They lie there in the dark, sharing warmth and space, Brian shifting his fingers just a tad until he can feel the warm, steady pulse of a heartbeat against the skin of Jimmy’s wrist. A reassurance that he’s alive, especially right now.  
    
Jimmy must recognize the movement and for a moment, Brian thinks he surely must be imagining things, or that he’s fallen back asleep, or even, bizarrely, that Jimmy might be laughing. But whatever he thinks is happening, it falls short of the reality of the situation as Jimmy starts shaking next to him, curling into himself and turning his head into the pillow.  
    
He’s not sure what to do, completely frozen with his arms still wrapped around Jimmy’s waist, his nose still squashed up against the nape of his neck, so he does the only thing his instincts really tell him to do. He just squeezes him tighter, nuzzles his face closer and closes his eyes.  
    
“I miss her, too.”  
    
All he gets is a hitched gasp, a soft sob muffled by the cotton of the pillow, and he can feel his eyes prickling again.  
    
Because Brian’s done his fair share of crying in the past few days since the funeral, since Jack first beckoned them into his office, since the realization first struck that Beverly was dead and she wasn’t coming back. Since their little family was suddenly and painfully ripped apart and left to bleed out. Brian still sees the autopsy behind his closed eyelids, still sees the pictures brought back from the crime scene they weren’t allowed to process whenever he lets his mind wander too far. He still sees the six slabs on his autopsy tables, still smells the disinfectant, still has healing bruises on his knuckles from where he slammed his fist as hard as he could into the bathroom wall the same day, until Jack found him cradling his injured hand and cursing into the wall he’d leaned against about how it _wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fucking fair._  
    
It wasn’t fair, not in the slightest. He feels guilty, now, horribly so, because it wasn’t fair to shove all of his anguish and pain and horror onto Jimmy but at the time, when Jack had finally ordered him to go home, Jimmy had come with him, had taken all of that awful pain and encouraged Brian to let it out, pressed Brian’s face into his own shoulder and scratched at his hair while he cried and rubbed his back like he was a damned toddler.  
    
He thinks, of all things, of a rock on the shore he’d picked up when he was little. He’d handed it to his mother, asking her why it was so smooth and shiny and pretty when all the other rocks he’d seen back home were jagged, and she had explained that the ocean beat against it constantly, rounding it out and taking a little more of it away each and every time the water touched. It’s what this feels like, right now.  
    
He just holds him tighter, isn’t sure what comfort he can offer that already hasn’t been given. A few tears drip into his own pillow but he wipes them away with his shoulder.  
    
“It’s stupid, it’s so _stupid_ ,” Jimmy finally gets out. “I couldn't sleep so I turned on the TV and it was-- it was the damn program she used to try and get us to watch and I got my phone to text her about some line or some plot and I had half of it out before I _remembered_.” Brian can feel his stomach sinking, because he’d done the same thing not two days before. “It felt like the entire world just crashed and burned all around me, while I stood there staring at the phone like I’d gone completely insane. And then? I sent it anyway, because, well. Why the hell not?” That time it’s definitely a laugh, albeit a mildly hysterical one. “Her phone's sealed up and locked in evidence. Probably scared some poor intern half to death. And then, for the icing on that cake, I panicked and called you instead.” He sighs shakily. "I'm trying, God knows I am  _trying,_ but sometimes it's too damn much to pretend like everything is normal."  
    
“What I’d do for normal again,” Brian mutters into Jimmy’s hair, and finds his pulse again with his thumb. “God, I’d do anything for normal again.” He sniffs once. “Remember singing showtunes and rock and roll in the lab that one day?”  
    
Jimmy snorts, his voice thick when he answers. “Jack swearing to high heaven he’ll never leave us three alone together with a radio ever again.”  
    
They both laugh, remembering Jack’s temper barely hidden by fond irritation, the three of them giggling behind their hands and outright laughing as soon as Jack was down the hall. Brian’s been having such a damn hard time dealing with the week, with turning to his left, expecting Bev, and finding empty air instead. Going onto a crime scene not squashed in the backseat of the van between the other two but instead with a space between just the two of them. Pointing something out and waiting for her input, only to painfully remind himself that it won't happen.  
    
They both lay there, remembering and perhaps basking in the sacred feeling of another person who shares the same pain, occasionally sharing a memory.  
    
“Do you remember that time we got the Queen’s Greatest Hits album into the van and we sang it the whole way to that one crime scene, the one with the split bones and the sculptures?” It’s a gruesome thing to say but it doesn’t phase either of them.  
    
“Jack said it was inappropriate,” Jimmy replies hoarsely, sounding groggy and cried-out. “Lying bastard. I heard him humming Don’t Stop Me Now for the rest of the night.”  
    
Balancing the pain with those blissful moments of normality are what make it hard, if he’s honest. But their strange method of coping together comes down to this, curled up together in a bed, crying with each other in between those moments of sharing love and affection, holding on to memories like precious gems.  
  
Lying there in the dark, the one person left that matters most to him in the world in his arms, Brian tries to remember what he’d done with that stone he’d shown his mother. And as Jimmy drifts off to sleep, his pulse strong against Brian’s fingertips, it comes to mind that he’d slipped it into his pocket and taken it home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the idea to this one was to focus on jimmy's grieving process instead but mostly i just wrote about brian and his cat so you know job well done me

**Author's Note:**

> if you'd like, find me at donytello.tumblr.com :D


End file.
